


The Language of Love

by Theblueeyedvampire



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Language, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 17:22:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7324072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theblueeyedvampire/pseuds/Theblueeyedvampire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for perfectdespair (aliceinsunnydale) on tumblr in response to the prompt "teaching your muse a new language". Takes place pre-canon, approx. 1880, when William has been recently sired. One theory behind how Spike becomes so good with his tongue...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Language of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aliceinsunnydale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliceinsunnydale/gifts).



William was sulking and nursing his wounds in one corner of the moonlit garden when one of their vampire minions – the equivalent of a scullery maid in this twisted hierarchy – found him.

“Madam Darla orders you to her chambers,” she said waspishly, probably miffed that her place in their order was so subservient as to run messages to the one who clearly brought so much displeasure to Angelus.

“What for?” grumbled William. He kept his eyes on the linen thread he was slowly picking from the cuff of his sleeve. Darla? For all he could tell, she had wanted nothing to do with him since his first humiliating encounter with Angelus’s sire, when she’d greeted him with a kiss, assaulting his mouth with the taste of Drusilla’s pleasure. Since then, she hadn’t even addressed him by name, referring to him by such monikers as “Dru’s faithful pup”.

“She did not disclose the purpose to me, only insisted that you did not keep her waiting.” The minion stood there, vampire features disapproving, watching him as though determined to wait until William obeyed the summons.

Rolling his eyes, he stood, gingerly moving bruised limbs, aching souvenirs from the previous day. Angelus had beaten him soundly for daring to ask if he and Dru could set up in a separate wing of the manor instead of the little bedroom directly across the hall. He’d just wanted some privacy, some peace and quiet to make love to his goddess without the raucous sounds of Angelus fucking in the opposite room (or worse still, having Dru dragged from him in the middle of the day to join them, leaving him alone and cold). The request had generated laughter and sneers, then a severe lashing. Tonight, Angelus had furthered his punishment by taking Dru out on the town for some mayhem and frivolity. Her parting words as the brute had escorted her giggling form out the door were, “Be a good boy, Willy. Make Grandmummy like you.”

Perhaps this is what she’d meant. Perhaps Darla and Drusilla had conversed about him, and he was being summoned to the former’s chambers to be reconciled to the highest member of their ragtag group of master vampires. Well… mostly master vampires. William still wasn’t sure he felt like much of a vampire at all.

The minion ushered him through the heavy door to the largest upstairs bedchamber, squeaked out, “William to see you, Madam,” and then shut the door quickly. At first William didn’t even see Darla. The chamber flickered with light from the roaring hearth and from candles placed throughout, casting the bedroom into red-orange shadows.

“William… here at last.”

His throat went dry at the sound of her voice, sugar-sweet and dripping with power. His eyes followed the voice to the bed and found the golden-haired vampiress reclining there, clad only in a white shift thin enough to display every pale curve beneath the fabric. William choked slightly, forgetting that he did not actually need to breathe.

“Y-you… sent for me?”

“William, William, has your sire taught you nothing about how to address your betters? When you speak to me, you will address me as Madam. Understood?”

“You s-sent for me, M-madam?” he amended, voice catching as his stutter resurfaced.

“That will do, I suppose. Yes, boy, I sent for you. It seems both of us are without our usual companions tonight. So we’ll have to make due somehow.” She sat up, dangled her ivory legs off the edge of the bed, and raised her skirt, displaying herself to him. “Get on your knees and service me.”

“M-m-madam?” he squeaked. The firelight hid nothing from his near-virginal eyes.

One honey brow rose in amusement. “I said service me, William. By all the gods, what have you and Drusilla been doing? Do you know nothing about pleasing a woman?”

His cheeks felt uncomfortably warm, though no blush stained his skin. He had never… it was entirely improper, even to consider… and certainly not for the beloved of another man. Even if that other man took his beloved to bed whenever he pleased. “N-not… not like that.”

Darla laughed, sugar-coated tinkling bells of mockery at his obvious chagrin. “Well, it seems this won’t be as straightforward as I planned. But no matter. If your poet’s tongue is as clever as Dru claims, you’ll learn quickly enough. Remove your shirt and come here.”

“B-but–”

“Come here now, boy. If you fail to please me, I will inform Angelus that you took me by force. I wonder how many times he’ll have to twist your head around before it detaches from your body.”

Shaking with nerves, William fumbled with the buttons on his linen shirt, stepping toward her in rushed, unsteady steps. He shook his suspenders off his shoulders and pulled the half-unbuttoned shirt up and over his head. The succubi smiled appreciatively as his bruise-stained torso was revealed.

“I rescind half my judgments about the girl siring you. You are a pretty one, William. Especially with my lover’s knuckles etched on you.”

Darla reached up, seized his shoulder in an iron grip, and yanked him down onto his knees before her. One sharp-nailed fingertip trailed across his lips and then slid into his unruly dirty-blond hair. “Just remember, don’t blunder about. Savoring a woman should be like savoring a fine wine.” She lay back, green eyes glittering and taunting him, and mounted his shoulder with one leg. “Go on, boy.”

William’s jaw shook. For a handful of moments, he could only stare at the vision before him, at gorgeous pale thighs uniting beneath slender hips, a thatch of well-groomed gold curls. He’d never even seen Drusilla in such clear lighting, and never from this angle.

“As much as I appreciate being worshiped by your eyes, boy, your mouth is the intended tool here,” Darla drawled, rolling her eyes at the ceiling overhead.

Quivering still, he leaned in and pressed a frightened kiss to her inner thigh. Darla laughed, a sound simultaneously mesmerizing in its beauty and chilling in its cruelty.

“You sweet… stupid boy. This is not supposed to be love. This is you fucking me with your tongue. Go on, now.”

Her hand tightened in his hair, pulling his face directly against her curls, his mouth to her wet lower lips. He gasped as the first honeyed taste of her touched his lips, tongue peeping forward in search of more cool nectar. She was power, as raw as he had ever known, the fountain from which he had sprung. And the first sweet sampling made him crave more.

Emboldened, his tongue plunged, seeking, probing, and above him Darla let out a sound of pleased surprise and clenched her hand still more firmly in his hair, using her grip as a steering rod. He experimented, kissing and suckling and painting his tongue across the entrance to her core. Her moans increased in volume, a melody in his ears. His arms came up on instinct, wrapping beneath her bucking hips.

He cried out as her bare heel slid from his shoulder down his back and dug into a particularly painful bruise between his shoulder blades. She spoke, but with her thighs clamped tight around his head, he couldn’t hear the words, or perhaps it wasn’t even words, just moans and sighs and pleasured groans. With his thumb he circled the spot just above her core while his tongue continued fucking her.

Her moans crescendoed suddenly, her free hand joining the first, yanking on his hair to crush his face against her. And then, with an abrupt shaking of her thighs and a shrill cry, her sweet release coated his tongue, dripping freely down his mouth and chin. She spasmed for several more seconds, and then her body relaxed beneath his hands and mouth. Near silence settled over the chamber, interrupted only by the crackling of the fireplace and by Darla’s soft, girlish moans of satisfaction. As soon as her fingers slackened their clenched hold, William leaned back, an almost frightened look of expectancy on his face.

“H-have… have I pleased you, Madam?” he asked timidly.

Darla considered him for a moment, then gave a small shrug of one shoulder. “Wipe your mouth, William, darling.” From her tone, one might suppose he had flecks of chocolate on his chin instead of the spendings of her pleasure. Shamefully, he picked up his shirt and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with one sleeve.

“Oh,” she said, as though observing a water smudge on a piece of dinnerware. “One of the wounds in your back has opened. I suggest a salve with a pinch of crushed lavender. Yes, poor boy, you pleased me,” she finally answered his question, taking pity on him. “For a virgin, you are surprisingly skilled at finding a woman’s pleasure.”

“M’ not a virgin,” he muttered, again feeling dull warmth in his cheeks where a blush should be.

Darla tossed her hair idly and let the nearly translucent fabric of her shift drape back over her thighs. Her eyes assessed him, and a satisfied grin spread her lips. “I see you’re finished, William. Run along now.“

Slightly confused, he stumbled from the room, shirt only half-donned. And it was only after he had exited her chamber that he realized there was a wet stain on the front of his trousers.

~fin~


End file.
